Chapter 2

Pete Riley, former singer, guitarist and songwriter with the band Dark December, looked sheepish and nodded.

"How didn't I recognise him?" I asked myself. After all, I'd had his picture on my bedroom wall for several years!

Dark December had been my favourite band of all time when I was fifteen. I had all their albums, and a poster of them in concert had pride of place on my wall.

But thinking about it, that poster had shown a band of young men with long hair, and the guitarist had been bending forward so that hair covered his features. I'm sure his photo had appeared on the album sleeves, but again it was of a young man, barely out of his teens, with hair surrounding his face.

Whereas in front of me now was a man in his early thirties with short brown hair and, while not exactly overweight, he certainly wasn't the skinny beanpole he had been. Yes he wore jeans, but he also had on a khaki t-shirt with Cambridge Folk Festival 2013 on it, not something you'd normally associate with a rock musician from ten years ago.

Today, he'd played acoustic guitar, while all of the band's songs were electric, and his vocals had been clear and not shouted. So I suppose I had no reason to have recognised him.

I was still kicking myself though.

By the time I'd recovered from my shock, and taken my hands from in front of my mouth like some besotted teenager, the reporter was asking questions. He obviously didn't have a great idea who Pete Riley was, but my reaction had made him realise that there was a story here somewhere.

"ARE you Pete Riley?" he was asking.

"I am."

That short confirmation stumped the reporter as he clearly still didn't understand the significance of that statement yet didn't want to expose his ignorance and ask who Pete Riley was. But he persevered.

"And what brings you here today?"

Pete lifted his carrier bag.

"Pickled onions," he replied with a slight smile. I could see he was now playing with the poor chap.

"I mean ... er ... what made you sing today?"

"Well, as I said, I was listening to a young man play a folk song," Pete explained. "And someone in the audience asked if I thought I could do better. I said that I could, and the next thing I knew I was up there with a guitar in my hand."

"Why did you choose those songs, and what were they?" the reporter asked, pen poised over his notebook.

"Well, I'm a bit rusty," Pete admitted. "I haven't sung in public for over six years, so I don't exactly have a large repertoire to choose from. The first three were songs I wrote for Dark December and I remember them well - Recrimination and Jezebel and then Highway of Life after Georgina here joined me. That had been written as a duet anyway.

"By then I'd rather run out of Dark December songs, but I wrote Back in the Bedroom comparatively recently, so I remembered that. Fortunately, Georgina knew it as well."

"And you really didn't know Georgina before today?"

"No, not at all - I just heard her singing and asked her up to give me a hand."

Pete was asked a couple more questions. Why was he here at this festival? No particular reason - it was a nice day and he fancied a trip out. Did he live locally? He wouldn't say.

Then he turned to me, so I took a leaf out of Pete's book. What was my name? Georgina. What was my second name? I wouldn't say. I also didn't tell him where I lived.

Had I sung in public before? Yes, but only in the school choir. Which school was that? I didn't tell him.

He was starting to lose interest by now - I think because he still didn't know if Pete was important or not. My friends Claire and Liz were hanging about - not wanting to interrupt but not wanting to let me go either. They would want to hear all about it - and soon!

After the reporter ambled off in search of an easier story, I looked around in search of my friends when Pete said: "Fancy a coffee?"

"Wha... ?" was my intelligent reply.

"There's a coffee stall over there," he said, pointing."Fancy a cup?"

We'd finished our drinks while talking to the reporter.

"Yes but..." I replied, gesturing at the two girls.

"Bring them too," he said.

So we did.

We queued for coffee then ordered four all different - mocha for me, with extra cream - cappuccino for Liz - green tea for Claire and a black americano for Pete. Then, clutching our insulated cardboard cups, we found a relatively quiet patch of grass to stand on.

Then we all spoke at once.

"Thanks for the..." I started.

"You were great..." said Liz.

"That was amaz..." from Claire.

"I just want to..." Pete began.

Then we all stopped. And started again, but not all at once.

By the time we'd finished our coffees (and Claire's tea), Pete had thanked me for helping him out and asked about my singing. In return, I'd thanked him for asking me and told him I really just sang for my own entertainment though I'd had some lessons while I was in the school choir. And Claire and Liz had said we were "simply amazing".

However, I wasn't convinced they knew who Pete Riley was either. They hadn't been Dark December fans, being more interested in dance and pop music, and while they realised I knew of him, they weren't awe-struck in any way.

That was just me. I still couldn't believe I'd sung with Pete Riley. OMG!

As we were winding down, Pete asked me: "Would you like to do that again?"

"Wha... ?" He had that effect on me.

"You could come over and we can practice some other songs together if you like," he explained.

Did I like? Of course I liked, but I didn't know him, and I didn't know where he lived.

He could see my hesitation.

"Bring your friends if you want," he told me. "I only live ten miles away."

Then we swapped phone numbers so he could text me the address, and he left to go back to his car.

Immediately, the other two were all over me. Who was Pete Riley? Tell us about Pete Riley! Did I fancy him? Did I think he fancied me? Of course he did, they could tell. After all he wanted me to go over and asked for my phone number.